Lies of Deception
by Igiveup
Summary: Sequel to Lies of Omission. You might want to read that one first. Watson tries to write about the Ronald Adair case, but keeps getting interrupted.


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**Here I am again, with a one shot this time. In order for this story to make sense, you might want to read one of my earlier stories, Lies of Omission, as this is a sequel of sorts. But really all you need to know is this: Watson knew the truth of Holmes surviving Reichenbach the entire time. You might also want to see my story The Master's Limits for another small tidbit of information.**

**On with the show!**

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_It appears as though I fainted for the first and last time in my life. Certainly a grey mist passed before my eyes-_

"Fainted? Watson, really," Sherlock Holmes shook his head in annoyance. "Weren't you the exact same fellow who said he had witnessed his comrades being 'hacked to pieces' in Maiwand without losing his nerve? Your readers cannot possibly be that foolish."

"Since when have you taken to reading my writings over my shoulder? You do realise how distracting that is, don't you?" Watson asked as Holmes leaned back against the desk.

"I am merely trying to make sure you stay as close to the facts as is possible with your insistence on presenting the matter in a storytelling format. Right now, you have gone completely into the realm of fairy tales."

"Well, I have to tell my readers _something,_ don't I?"

"Why not just admit you had fabricated the events of my untimely demise under my direct orders? It is the truth."

Watson looked at him as if he had gone mad. "I cannot do that! They would never trust anything I write again."

"As if they should have to begin with?" Holmes asked, lighting his pipe and throwing the match in the fireplace.

Watson did not answer, and resumed his writing instead.

"At least you got the details of my travels correct," Holmes muttered as he continued reading over Watson's shoulder.

"Assuming you were telling me the full truth about them," Watson pointed out.

"I still don't know why you need to fill in the details of my resurrection. It was nearly ten years ago, and most of the public has already deduced that I've returned."

"But they are wondering how and why it is possible that you've come back," Watson pointed out.

"Let them wonder!" Holmes said. "You were able to publish the Baskervile case after my return, weren't you?"

"Remember, it took place before your disappearance, so then I did not need to give any explanation for your presence."

Holmes wordlessly waved Watson's explanation away. He looked over the manuscript again.

"I freely admit that I'm not the kindest of men, but I would never keep my survival a secret from you for three entire years! Three months perhaps..."

"Thank you. That is good to know," Watson said sarcastically. "My readers are far more likely to accept a lie from you then they are from me."

"You also have yourself completely and utterly forgiving me without the slightest reprimand," Holmes continued. "It makes you look like a spineless weakling. You were nowhere _near _as forgiving when I tricked you into thinking I was on my deathbed in order to capture Culverton Smith. You certainly would never allow me to get away with the trick you have me pulling here."

"That's true," Watson admitted, "But I can't think of anything else. So if you don't mind..."

"Very well," Holmes muttered disgustedly.

"If it's any comfort, I am going to get back to the Ronald Adair case," Watson added.

"After that detour into sentimentality," Holmes shot back. "Oh, do what you please. The public is bond to adore it, if their past reactions to your writings on anything to go on."

"Was that a compliment?" Watson asked teasingly. Holmes rarely, if ever had anything kind to say about the doctor's writings, but when he did it was usually in the most round-about fashion imaginable.

"If you wish to interpret it that way," Holmes said dismissively.

"Then if you are done with your interruptions, may I please finish this? I do have a deadline, you know."

Holmes smirked, but did not say anything more. He tilted his head and read along silently as Watson wrote.

"There we are, all finished," Watson said finally. The sun was starting to set, and Holmes stood up to light the lamps.

"What are you going to call this one?" Holmes casually asked.

"Well, let's see, I called the story of your apparent death 'The Final Problem.' Perhaps I can call this one 'A New Beginning?'"

"Do that and I'll permanently forbid you from ever publishing another one of our adventures," Holmes said, visibly shuddering at the title.

"That bad eh?" Watson chuckled. "Give me time, my dear fellow. The title is the hardest part to come up with. It has to be exactly right to attract the reader's attention."

Watson placed the manuscript in an envelope to prepare it for postage the next day. Before he could blink, Holmes snatched it from his hands.

"I really am having second thoughts about you publishing this," Holmes said, holding the envelope out of Watson's reach.

"Holmes, give that back!" Watson tried to grab the envelope. Holmes, taking advantage of the fact he was slightly taller than Watson, held the envelope above his head.

"Such blatant sentimentality," Holmes said, his tone more teasing than scornful. "I thought your readers were more interested in the thrill of adventure."

"The story of your daring escape from Moran qualifies, does it not?" Watson made another lunge for the envelope, and Holmes dodged him.

"It is a terrible distraction-" Holmes began laughing as Watson finally seemed to give up his efforts for the envelope, only to suddenly lunge and tickle Holmes under the arm.

"Hey-" Holmes choked out, dropping the envelope. "That was cheating, Watson!"

Watson picked up the envelope and hurriedly locked it in his desk before Holmes could retrieve it.

"Now, you were saying something about a distraction?"

Holmes cleared his throat and sat down in his chair.

"The tale about my survival is a distraction, Watson. One moment you are talking about the Adair case, the next you are describing my mad dash from Reichenbach falls."

"Well, Moran _was _the one who shot at you at the Falls," Watson pointed out. "And it wasn't until he murdered Adair that you could come out of hiding."

Holmes shrugged and grudgingly acknowledged that Watson had a point.

Watson lit a cigarette and joined Holmes by the fire. For a long time the two men smoked in silence until Holmes finally spoke.

"The Empty House."

"What?"

"The title for your story Watson," Holmes said impatiently. "I thought 'The Empty House' might be appropriate."

"Perhaps," said Watson doubtfully.

"Think of it, Watson! That empty house across the street was where we lied in wait to capture Moran, and finally sprung the trap that removed the second most dangerous man from the streets of London."

Watson laughed as Holmes' eyes sparkled with excitement. "That's very true. All right then, The Empty House it shall be. Shall I tell my readers the title was your idea?"

"I believe you already know the answer to _that, _my dear fellow," Holmes said, rolling his eyes.

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**_The end! I hope you enjoyed it!_**


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